en pointe, and sway
by MintiNeko
Summary: Gaila wants very much to be friends with Nyota. Ballet and Orion dance, however far apart, still share the root of passion.


**Title:** en pointe, and sway  
**Rating:** PG  
**Character(s):** Gaila, Uhura  
**Warnings:** none, really.  
**Summary:** Gaila wants very much to be friends with Nyota. Ballet and Orion dance, however far apart, still share the root of passion.  
**Notes:** Well, why not? Weird little one shot, obviously nodding to _Center Stage_, which is, frankly, awesome.

* * *

It takes a month before Gaila and Nyota are able to meet on common ground.

It's intensely frustrating; Gaila has never had to work so hard to understand someone. Especially someone she happens to like. Nyota Uhura is beautiful, pleasant, and intelligent, and Gaila's sure that they could be great friends, if they could only find _something_ in common.

Gaila's a sociable girl, and usually it takes no time at all for her to find a hobby, a skill—anything, really—she can relate and share with someone she likes. And if she can't, well, she falls back on the topic of sex. Which usually proves to be quite fruitful, at least once the other person realizes that no, she's not propositioning them; she just wants to talk.

That doesn't mean those encounters don't end without an invitation—quite a number of them do. But sex or no sex, Gaila walks away from those conversations feeling that she understands the person a lot better, and that even if they don't become friends, they can at least be friendly, which is more than what she got in the pens.

But _nothing_ she tries works on Nyota.

At first she's thrilled when Nyota says she's majoring in xenolinguistics and speaks Orion to her, and prepares to offer lessons in hopes they can bond over the terms of endearment, pick up lines and all the other little idiosyncrasies of language.

But because Nyota is a perfectionist, her Orion is already flawless, and the novelty fades quickly. While having someone fluent in your language to talk to at a place where no one else really knows it is comforting, in order to _truly_ appreciate such a gift, one must first _find_ _something to talk about_.

Gaila tries asking Nyota about men next, because in nearly all human movies, at some point, the women will start talking about the leading man, the wrong man, or the sexy one night stand. It's a good a place as any, though Gaila herself isn't as masochistic as to limit herself to one 'type' when there are a variety of several tasty specimens for her to choose at her leisure.

However, that attempt falls flat when Nyota coolly informs her that she has no time for boys at this stage in her life and could Gaila please stop hogging the bathroom—she's going to make them both late for Commander Spock's lecture.

Even more annoying is that Nyota is also an overachiever, and is constantly working at one project or another, so any time to attempt conversation must be used wisely. Gaila finds her frustration boiling over; here she is trying to be friendly, and while Nyota is hardly being _un_friendly, she is brushing Gaila off, and while Gaila knows it isn't meant to be unkind, it still hurts.

One night, thoroughly fed up, Gaila attempts to initiate sex talk, even though she still has a few cards left to play. Their relationship is stagnating, and she figures it's a perfect catalyst to change things between them.

That doesn't happen.

It's not that Nyota reacts _badly_; but her mind is still half-on her work and the resulting conversation is so horribly sterile that Gaila can't end it fast enough.

In the course of conversation, Nyota manages to makes sex sound _boring_, which Gaila didn't even know was _possible_.

She's also pretty sure it was deliberate, because she knows Nyota has a libido—she found the magazine collection—and an ear for gossip (if not the mouth). Frankly, Gaila finds the whole incident offensive, and vows that if space is what Nyota wants, she can have as much as she desires.

So for the next few weeks Gaila goes about her own business, still pleasant to Nyota but not trying any harder.

Then, one day, she walks into their room and Nyota isn't at her desk but sitting on her bed, apparently regarding her feet with a dreamy expression Gaila has never seen before. Curious, Gaila looks down.

"What on earth are you wearing?" she asks, dropping her books on her bed and coming for a closer look.

On Nyota's feet are the most painful-looking shoes Gaila has ever had the misfortune to see. It's a pity; the shape and ribbons meant to keep foot-in-shoe are quite pretty. But at the same time, the slippers are forcing the foot to elongate and arch in a most unnatural fashion that can't be comfortable _or_ practical. And definitely not something Gaila would ever expect Nyota to own.

"They're my old dance shoes," says Nyota absently, straightening her leg and turning her foot from side to side. "I think my mother packed them when I wasn't looking. She said I'd miss ballet," she chuckles. "Didn't think she'd be right."

"You dance?" Excited beyond words, Gaila drops her books on the desk and immediately bounces down next to Nyota. "In those shoes? How? Won't you break your foot?" She frowns, trying to imagine how Nyota can possibly dance properly in shoes like that, how can she sway her hips without falling over? Leap? Reach? Feel the beat of the music without both feet bare and flat on the floor?

Gaila loves to dance. She loves her body, loves using it in a hundred and one different ways. The Orion girls are famous for their dances, but outsiders don't understand that these dances of seduction and pleasure are mere shadows of true Orion culture. On Orion, the people take part in huge communal dances, honoring their goddess, their mothers and sisters. There is the sexual, and there is the sensual, the melding of metaphysical representation and flesh and blood.

The idea that Nyota, the epitome of straight-laced and sensible, might also love showing off her body, might also love reveling in her own sensuality is enough to make Gaila forget her self-imposed distance entirely.

"Not quite," says Nyota with a mischievous smile, one that Gaila decides she definitely wants to see again. "It's ballet. These shoes are designed so you can work on more advanced techniques. Really," she adds as Gaila pulls a disbelieving face. "You can't stay on your toes otherwise."

"Why would you _want _to?" asks Gaila, frowning. "You can't feel the music if your feet are all bound up like that, can you?"

"If you listen, you don't have to." Nyota angles a curious look, one that Gaila usually only sees in the classes they share. "Is that what Orions do when they dance?"

"Sort of. We pick up rhythm that way," Gaila explains, "Different beats means different variations on the steps; come together, twirl, spread out; stuff like that." She taps out a rhythm with her boots, hums an old tune she hasn't heard in years.

"Really?" Nyota has a curious gleam in her eyes, and she leans towards Gaila a little more. "Tell me more."

One explanation leads to another, and somehow Gaila finds herself accepting an invitation to watch Nyota practice in an empty dance studio, located in downtown San Francisco.

"It's the weekend," says Nyota, "If you're still curious, come down and watch me. I've already made arrangements to practice there when it's not being used, so no one will bother us—and maybe you could show me your kind of dance."

It's abrupt, and pretty surprising, considering they really don't know each other that well. But Gaila suspects that it's Nyota's roundabout way of apologizing for her cool demeanor.

So that Saturday, after waking up late, showering and telling the Andorian she brought back from the bar to not to forget to take all his clothes with him, she heads out to the address Nyota gave her.

Nyota gives her a little smile as she walks through the door, but keeps moving. Fascinated, Gaila makes herself comfortable on the floor, back resting against the wall, and just watches.

Soft, fluid music, so unlike what Gaila considers true dance rhythm, permeates the air. From what basics Nyota explained of ballet the night before, Gaila can see why it appeals to the other girl so much. The different moves and routines require considerable control over one's body, as well as great strength. And yet, there's elegance to it, understated and ever present. It's calm and graceful.

The passions are still there. They do not burst forth, but gently simmer beneath the surface, briefly gleaming through as the dancer turns out her leg, leaps, reaches out towards the audience. They are tightly reined most of the time, but when they burst forth, it is incredible.

"I'm really out of practice," says Nyota when she finishes, walking over to sit besides Gaila, taking a water bottle out of the bag she brought along. "But you get the general gist. What did you think?"

"It's nothing I've ever seen before," says Gaila, honestly. "But I can still tell that you're amazing."

"Thanks," says Nyota, resting her head against the wall.

"And I had no idea anyone could dance so well to music that…anemic."

"Anemic?" Nyota raises an eyebrow, an amused grin flickering across her face. "Careful. You're insulting some fairly important compositions to Earth culture."

Gaila shrugs, utterly unapologetic. "It's a bit wish-wash. No pipes. And it doesn't sound like there are any drums."

Nyota, still grinning, shakes her head. "I'll agree about the lack of drums; I didn't like it either when I started out. But I changed my mind. Now," she cocks her head to one side, a challenging gleam in her eyes, "it's your turn."

Gaila rises to her feet—her regulation boots and uniform in a small pile besides Nyota's neat little bag—and pads to the center of the room. There are only two windows in the room, horizontal slits designed to let in maximum amount of light with minimum views. No one will see her, clad only in her underwear. In all honesty, she's surprised Nyota hasn't complained about public indecency anyway, considering how uptight she can be. But dance is about body as well as spirit, and Nyota doesn't seem to particularly care. Besides, short skirts may be attractive, but difficult to really move in.

At her word, Nyota selects the song Gaila wants and presses 'play' on the speakers. A deep, thrumming beat fills the air. It's not really a proper Orion rhythm; but Arabian music is an excellent substitute; Gaila can practically see her sisters dancing about her.

Taking a deep breath, she joins the specters. There is no longer an old dance studio, but the hall of her matriarch, hundreds of men and woman entwining and leaping apart, seductive and playful.

Orion slave girls dance to arouse desire, to inspire lust in their customers, to intensify. Gaila hasn't danced since the day she cut her chains and left the ones who enslaved her. But feeling the drums beat a rhythm up through her toes, running down her arms and hammering inside her head, she remembers where those dances came from, what her mother told her so long ago:

_It's only natural to dance for yourself, Gaila. Yes, it attracts men, it holds them under your spell—but you must always remember to dance for yourself, first and foremost—_

She starts slowly, stretching, languorous and catlike. She can't help but flash a coy smile at Nyota, who only laughs in amusement. And, with extreme delicacy, begins to pick up the tempo.

_Our Goddess gives life; we show her our gratitude by putting our bodies on display, show that we are unashamed, that we do not take her gifts for granted—_

Sway. Step left. Kick high.

_Celebrate your body; revel in your ability to make others desire you—_

The drums remain steady, but Gaila finds herself moving faster, steadily throwing away control, barely leashing her passion, leaping and spinning like a madwoman.

—_your ability to one day bear daughters of your own, who will also dance to thank our Goddess for the gift she bestowed upon us._

She is almost in frenzy; her movements become sharper, less sensual. She doesn't stop, won't stop until the music ends. By then, she is short of breath, her body gleaming from her exertions. The dance studio comes back to her, and there is no mother or sister or matriarch, just Nyota, sitting quietly against the wall, regarding her with thoughtful eyes.

Gaila knows she might have just made a fool of herself, letting her feelings bubble up and explode in such a way. She can't, and won't, apologize for them.

"Orion dance," she says, "is very raw."

It's not much of an explanation, but the only one she can think of.

It's probably the understatement of the century.

But to her surprise, Nyota smiles at her, another one of those brilliant smiles. Not mocking or pitying or any other kind of negative emotion; just an honest smile.

"There is a bit of insanity in dancing that does everybody a great deal of good," Nyota says, smiling softly. There is nothing sardonic in her voice. "To quote Edwin Denby. That was beautiful, Gaila."

"Thank you," says Gaila, relief coloring her words. "And…who's Edwin Denby?"

"He was a twentieth century poet, but you probably don't hear much of him nowadays. He was a very influential dance critic."

"_Dance critic?_" Gaila echoes, shaking her head in disbelief. "How do you—wow. You humans are so _fussy _about everything."

"Us? Picky?" Nyota raises an eyebrow, challenging, "Well, let me tell _you_ something…"

Their words dissolve into light-hearted bickering, an epic clash between the vices of Orions and humans alike, with no clear winner in sight.

It's not what she expected, but Gaila could get used to this.

* * *

A/N: You know, I now want to read fic where Gaila teaches Nyota how to dance Orion-style. Because that would be utterly hilarious.


End file.
